


Burn It Down

by ninhursag



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, F/M, Porn Battle, Rescue, Slavery, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaila rescues her captain from slavers, but they want a show first. They get more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn It Down

Gaila picks Jim out of the crowd in the cage by the color of his eyes and skin, but also by the lilt of his mouth, pretty and red. He catches her eyes, just for a second, and that mouth curls before he looks away, like he doesn't recognize her. That's smart, they likely have no idea who he, how valuable he is is if they, have him in with the general slaves. Better not to give them any clues or the security will be so tight she'll need an army she hasn't got to rescue him.

What she does have is her own cover, an Orion woman with a yen to open a brothel on one of the merchant stations on the borders of the neutral zone. It's a good cover, everyone knows Orions don't join the Federation and Federation officers don't pay ransoms or buy slaves. She's smiling when she buys him right out in the open in the summer market for a chip full of credits. With a bracelet of gold-pressed latinum thrown in for a sweetener, they bring him out around back, by the private door, before the auction is even closed.

He moves awkwardly with his arms bound behind his back, restrained at the wrists and elbows, guards on either side elbowing him along. There are bruises in odd patterns on his face and scattered over his shoulders like his freckles. Mostly, they're probably from a badly calibrated dermal regenerator. She doesn't think about what was regenerated.

There's a shock collar on his neck, shiny and smooth, that makes her own neck ache in sympathetic memory, but that and the restraints are the only thing he's wearing. He looks at her from under his lashes and doesn't smile.

"He's strong for a Terran," one of the guards says and winks at her with showy lasciviousness. "If he gives you any trouble, don't hesitate with the shock collar, it won't leave marks."

Gaila winks back easily, hands loose and open by her sides as if they weren't poised centimeters from a good grip on her phaser. "I think I can handle him," she says. One of the corners of Jim's mouth lifts at that and she relaxes, just a fraction.

"I'll bet," the other guard says, and laughs. He eyes Gaila up with the same frankness as his companion. "What are you going to do with him, if you don't mind my asking? He's too dangerous for a work slave."

She shrugs. "I'm opening a brothel on the edge of Klingon space. They have a taste for exotics, you know." She does know, she worked her share of those brothels. Jim's lips curl up a little more, but he doesn't make a sound. He's almost too quiet and even though that's really desirable right now, it's starting to bother her. There's probably a silencer attached to the damned collar.

"Yum," the first guard. He's showing all his teeth and leering. She can't even tell if the leer is for her or for the bare curve of Jim's ass. "You going to try him out first? Make sure he's good?"

She laughs brightly, tossing her hair. "I have no doubts. Doesn't matter anyway, he has the look the customers will like." Her palm brushes so lightly over the grip of her phaser. She hadn't even realized she was reaching for it.

The guard runs one hand down the line of Jim's spine. "Well, let me tell you, he is good. Hardy too, for a Terran." She can see the flinch, the way Jim shifts like he's going to move away. Her teeth bare pleasantly. She starts to think stupid thoughts, when she should just be thinking about how to get them both out of here.

She doesn't get a chance to voice them, the other guard saves her there. "Let us watch you try him out and we'll give you back this and raise you fifty credits." He dangles up the bracelet she bribed him with.

She opens her mouth to voice a refusal, but she meets Jim's eyes head on before she gets the chance. They're blue enough to hurt, fierce. He shakes his head, just slightly. Something... she finds herself nodding. "Why not?" she laughs. "Let's find somewhere a little more comfortable and give me the keys to his arm binders."

The guards throw each other a sharp look so fast she almost doesn't catch it. Huh. Definitely suspicious of something. One of them shrugs, though. If there's a test, she's passing it so far. Federation people don't have sex with trafficked sentient being either. It's one of the major points of law Gaila memorized first. "Keep the binders on him for now," he murmurs. "He's good enough with his mouth to make you very happy, believe me."

Gaila smiles at him. "I'll bet," she says, and licks her lips delicately while she imagines crushing his face under the heels of the heavy, Fleet issued boots she's not wearing. Her blood hums and she follows the guards a pace behind while they hustle Jim between them.

There's an alley, hazy-dark with the ripe scent of spoiled organics wafting over it. It's isolated, so quiet and muffled she can't even hear the market anymore, only the aching cry of birds screaming overhead. If she can't hear them, they can't hear her either. Interesting.

One of the guards pushes Jim down to his knees. She sees him wince when flesh meets pavement. The hissing of his breath is the only noise he makes.

"Come here, pretty," she urges, tone rough and careless. It's the first time she's addressed him directly since she's seen him. It's an old joke between them, from a dim-lit bar in San Fransisco. Two cadets, drunk on Cardassian Sunrises and excellent local beer and the tail end of an argument about gender roles on Vulcan and Terra or something equally ridiculous. She called him pretty. He laughed and kissed her, beer and sweetness on his mouth, like someone who'd never kissed anyone he hadn't wanted to in his life.

A universe away from here, with him on his knees, bruised mouth and hard eyes. Her hands shake, just slightly. She puts them on his shoulders for a moment, guiding him in between her legs. Soundlessly, he kisses her, mouth warm on the cloth over her crotch. Heat and rage twist up through her spine, liquid vicious and she's already wet. Her knees lock and she hikes up her dress with one hand, spreading the palm of the other over the back of his neck in slow, careful motions.

She can see the guards watching out of the corner of her eyes. Hear the heaviness of their breath. "Make him work for it!" one of them urges, and there's another memory in that, the close in stench of a brothel on another world, with doors that lock from the outside and no escape unless you buy it in blood. She rubs her thumb against the nape of Jim's neck, like she's pulling something out of him.

His teeth catch on the edge of her underwear, pulling it down with one vicious motion and that makes one of the guards laugh, pushing another blister of green-dark rage through her vision. Anger and lust are two of the same, like she's a warrior from a poem.

She ignores that, though, everything but the smooth heat of his tongue gliding up her thigh. She wants to slide down next to him. Instead she leans her elbows against the wall and spreads her knees further. Bites back the desire to kiss his mouth, say his name, tear down the walls of this city and give him the rubble with a ribbon around it.

There will be time for that. Now is the time for the slickness of his tongue spreading into her. If she closes her eyes she'll remember lying in the thick, soft grass in an moonlit yard, him between her thighs, the easy grip of his hands and the way he'd laughed as bright as moonlight and said, "I've always heard this is the best way to learn the Standard alphabet, tell me if it's true," before tracing it out with his tongue on her clit. And she'd laughed like a moon drunk girl and mocked him, but now...

Now she closes her eyes and feels the patterns and the motions, warm and steady, cutting through her rage like righteous fire. _Trap. Won't let us go._

Her knees are weak and her brain's in overdrive and his mouth is so sweet, like vicious honey. His teeth scrape over skin, just enough to make her gasp, eyes snapping open. She looks down at him, hands still tight around the bruised length of his neck. The marks of her fingers are probably there too, fading out the others. His eyes are so blue, urgent. She nods. She hears him.

One hand falls loose at her side and she screams when he brings her off. The guards laugh and one of them claps, not looking, not really. Not when they need to be.

Her phaser is set to kill and she uses it once, twice, no warning. The scent of burned flesh wipes out the stink of sex and decay, wipes out everything else.

She shudders and slides down on her knees next to him and holds him hard and close, breathing in the scent of him. He's stiff in her arms for a moment before going lax and shaky-limp. His breath is wet and he kisses her cheek, her mouth. He tastes of sex, stale and fresh. Mostly hers, like she wiped out everything else. He tastes like Jim.

"I found you, they can't have you," she says, into his sweaty-dirty hair.

He nods hard and he mouths something that feels a lot like, "No shit, baby," but maybe that's just the Jim in her head. She laughs anyway.

In a second, she'll riffle through the guards' pockets and find the keys to restraints and collar. In a second, they'll see about getting out of here. In a second.


End file.
